


deos fortioribus adesse

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Miracrail Month [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Alternian Empire, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Violence, Established Relationship, Gore, Harems, Hemospectrum, Hemospectrum Shift, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Polyamory, Quadrant Vacillation, alternia is still a fucking nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 08:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: An Emperor visits his harem for some sweet relief.Things don't go to plan.





	deos fortioribus adesse

**Author's Note:**

> 4\. Free Space

You're Karkat _god damn_ Vantas, ruler of the known universe and Emperor of the Alternian Empire and if you decide to have a night off and spend it with your fucking harem, then you fucking can.

Honestly, who's going to tell you fucking no anyway? And you like your harem. It's nice and soft and quiet, and no one gives you shit or makes you feel like you're going to ruin the god damn Empire by scratching your sniffnode in the wrong diplomatic meeting. Your Ancestor, His Imperial Endurance, apparently never put a walking stub wrong. You're aware of the fact that the advisers and council you inherited think you're a pretty poor fucking substitute for the figure of your Ancestor, but they can suck your god damn imperial crimson bulge. You're what they've got. They'll just have to live with it, or go cull themselves in some quiet corner, hopefully without making too much of a mess for the cleaning crew to tidy up. Since there hasn't been an outbreak of self-cullings in the capital, you assume they're going to get along just fine with being under the rule of His Imperial Audacity.

His Imperial Audacity being you, Karkat Vantas. You're doing a great job of ruling, as far as you're concerned. Your Ancestor shuffled off the mortal coil more than just a few sweeps ago and you'd moved in like you'd always been meant to. Fuck anyone who said different. What were they going to do, bring the seadwellers and tyrian empresses back? _Please_. You're here to stay and they're just going to have to deal with you until you die, or until they die.

Pushing open the gilded doors and ignoring the large blueblooded guards standing either side of your shoulders at the entrance, you inhale the smell of conciliatory musk and some sort of intense perfume and feel your shoulders sag in relief immediately. You keep up a good act of being in charge, loud and forthright but here you can be yourself. Karkat Vantas. Karkat. Just...Karkat. Letting them swing close behind you, you venture further in. All quadrants are represented but somehow you've managed to collect more pale partners than any other square. And as much with them as with every other quadrant, you smear recklessly. 

Unless it's with Gamzee.

Gamzee's just...Gamzee. You'd inherited him, would be a better way of describing it than anything else. As part of your Ancestor's bond with the Caverns, fostered by his Jade pseudolusus - mostly known as the Theotokos in the Imperial dogma - he'd had his frondstubs deep into the matter of the incestual slurry. And eggs. And grubs. Said he knew what sort of trolls some grubs would be just from looking at them. Ha, you say with acrid disbelief to that, but no one really wants to hear what you think about His Imperial Tediousness. No one else had to listen to him as much as you did, after all.

Anyway, Gamzee. Basically the way things went was that one night, out had popped this little purple fucking grub from the piles of eggs that the Mother Grub laid every season after gorging Herself on drone-delivered buckets of slurry. There were heaps of little fucking purple grubs, but this little fucking grub had long, spiralled horns to go with their purple near-seaslime blood. And then it had been picked by a seagoat lusus and then, oh fuck, had your Ancestor gotten _really_ interested in this little fucking purple grub. The sign had just cemented everything and surprise, Gamzee fucking Makara, identified Descendent of one Kurloz Makara, aka the final Grand Highblood in a long line of Grand Highbloods, blessed leader of the Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Imperial power and bloody-handed supporter of Her Imperious Condescension. Dead since the beginning of the Revolution but hey, apparently he'd donated enough slurry over the sweeps to get the Mother Grub to spit out his genetic copy despite that mortal obstacle. The last thing anyone needed (except for maybe a fuchsia grub with long curved horns), but your Ancestor had a huge stupidly soft pusher and a tendency to want to behave in a better, more ethical way than the Empress he'd dethroned. 

So. That's why you have a fucking (not-a-clown) purpleblood as a moirail. You've got more pale concubines than you could shake a stick at, but you know to the inside of your bones that Gamzee is your real true moirail. Imperial politics being what the fuck they are, you're not exactly open about what the last Grand Highblood's spawn is to you. Like you _need_ more reasons for that fucking lusus communer who thinks he's the newest answer to everything your Empire (_your fucking Empire, god damn it_) could ever need to throw his weight around. Considering his wings, you're not sure how much weight he's got since apparently he can fly with them, but at the moment you're white-knuckling your way through councils by imagining what would happen if you had one of your guards launch him out a window. Then you could find out if he can fly for real.

Good, you're going to be _good_, fuck. It's just so fucking hard to not take advantage of all the power you have in extremely petty ways sometimes.

"Sup, best friend," Gamzee says complacently as you drag yourself into his designated chamber, having waved off any other offer of company. He's got his back to you, and he's contemplating the newly blank wall of his respiteblock like it's going to give him answers out of nowhere. You know what that looks like, even from the back. You come up behind him and put your arms around his waist, pressing your face between his shoulder blades. Even despite the fact that he has full access to anything he could possibly want, including food, you can still feel his skeletal support system through his shirt. He lets out a deep hum, that you can almost feel vibrate through to your horns (those fucking shameful nubs) and you just close your eyes and hold on.

Breathe in.

"Council meeting just be like that, huh," he says, and lifts one arm to score a stroke of green across the cream expanse of his respiteblock wall. He likes to paint. He says that it helps with how he feels when you're not here (you're not here so much of time, you have so much shit you need to do because everyone else is fucking incompetent). You make sure he has all the paints he could need, and his respiteblock gets repainted back to base regularly. There's so many pictures and footage of everything he's created, it's one of your favourite things to go through when you're having a bad night and you're missing him. "You know what I say, motherfucker."

"We should just throw everything in and steal a spaceship," you mutter into the lean muscles lying along his spine. Your hands are clenched onto his shirt so tight, your claws are driving holes through the cloth. Like you can't ruin his clothes if you want. He could have so much more than he does, if he wanted. But this is all he wants. Baggy sweatpants, and loose t-shirts. He never leaves the harem any more, so he doesn't even wear shoes. Just lounges around all day, painting and waiting for you. For _you_. He's yours, he _belongs_ to you like no one else ever has - or ever will. 

You don't care that your Ancestor basically gave him to you like a woofbeast. A pet. Something disposable. He's _yours_.

"Hell yeah, bro. We'll fly out to where no one has even heard of Alternia," he murmurs, and you can feel his muscles bunch and shift as he spreads colour into creating things that have meaning only to him. Green slitherbeasts with red eyes and mouths agape, grinning faces with oculars and fangs too big for them, purple tents. Despite the Cult having been driven underground in the aftermath of the Revolution and Gamzee never fucking ever having ever had access to a Cultist, Mirthful imagery shows up in his paintings to a distressing degree. If you didn't think it was fucking beefgrub shit, you'd think it was his Ancestor's blood seething inside him and finding a way to come out. That's a lie (you know that's a lie) (you're too god damn paranoid about this shit). It's something that logically, just can't be true. "Just gonna keep flyin' until we's free and clear of all this fucking imperial bullshit. Gonna hit all those motherfucking alien bitches the fuck up, get some sweet sugar cotton candy that ain't like nothin' we ever had before. Mmhmm."

"You don't even care about pailing," you scoff into his back, because he never has. Not as long as you've known him. 

"Maybe not with these motherfuckers y'all got in here," he mumbles, and you tighten your fists. Do you want him to leave you? If he found other quadrants, maybe he would. Maybe he'd want to do something else besides waiting around for you. You don't _want_ him to. But he's not your pet. Even if everyone else thinks he is, you and he both know he's not (doesn't he?).

"You can leave, if you want," you say as quietly as you can manage, and you feel your oculars stinging with sudden, unasked for tears. Fucking stupid emotion. You don't want him to know so you keep your voice steady and you swallow back the lump. "You know you can, any time. You moron."

"Now why would I wanna pass up an easy fucking life as I got now, best friend? Got you, that's worth more than anything," he sighs, and you hope to fuck he really means that. So many people lie to you, all the fucking time. Mostly so they don't upset you; fuck that, lying to you always makes you even more fucking upset. Especially when they're lying about how they feel about you, as a person. Not that you care. You don't care. You don't give a single fucking shit. You cling to him as he moves, just staying plastered to his back and stepping in short steps after him as he paces to his supplies, then back to the wall. You just want to be with him right now. "Shiiiit, bro, what do you think about this motherfucking japery I'm throwing up here?"

"Looks fine, looks like the usual shit you slather on perfectly fucking innocent walls," you sniff, but you peek around him to take in what he's working on. It's some kind of...fucking pastoral scene? It's kind of sweet. Whatever that curly smoky blue thing is in the corner is kind of fucked up though. It's looks like it's sort of based on a troll, but it's screaming soundlessly as it holds its hands to its head with its fucking mismatched horns. You...don't like it much. Where the fuck did he even come up with something like that? "I like the...trees, I guess."

"Why don't you tell me on what the fuck has been going on, Karbro?" Gamzee suggests, and you nod. "Get yourself into the pile, I'll be there real soon, motherfucker. Just gotta get this down before it motherfucking flies right the fuck out of the cluckbeast-hive on me." It's not like it's a bad idea, and it's probably what you need so you let go of him reluctantly. It's not that many steps to the pile and you collapse onto it with a sigh. It's mostly comfortnubs and silk, but there's art shit in here too, and the occasional bulbhonk device. You don't even know where he gets them. It's not something you've ever bought for him, you're sure of it. 

There's a knock on the door and you groan. Fuck, that'll be for you. No one knocks on doors looking for Gamzee fucking Makara. 

"What is it?" you shout, and start to make move to haul yourself out of the pile. You'd just gotten comfortable too. The Empire never rests, and that means you don't either. What the actual fuck could it be, you'd sorted everything out properly already. Maybe it was that fucking cavalreaper...it wouldn't surprise you. He's way too fucking big for his boots, and wants to trade in on that 'mutant feeling' the two of you so obviously share. Pardon you while you unload your hungersack all over your really fucking nice boots. "I'm busy!"

"Your Audacity?" the voice of whoever it is is outside the doors is faltering and soft, and they sound afraid. Your pusher clenches, and you scowl. You're such a fucking sucker. "If you could - Your Audacity? It really is important...I..." The voice trails off into a mumble, and you curse as you fight your way out of the pile and to the door. Gamzee makes a grumbling sound, and you flap a grasper at him.

"We'll get to it, I promise, this shouldn't take long," you say, and you open the door with a hard yank. Ready to eviscerate whoever is on the other side if you have to, if it's not something that's absolutely needful. You _need_ this time. And for all they knew, you could have been sheathdeep inside someone's nook by now, expending your bad mood in a little caliginous play or something like that. They're just fucking _lucky_ you needed comfort more than pailing. "What the fuuuu....oh shit."

There's a laser pistol pressed to your chest. There's a _laser pistol_ pressed to your _chest_. Boy, that's on a direct path to your pusher, right there.

You stumble back as the pressure on your thoracic plate increases, and you just stare at your assassin. Oh shit, well, you hadn't expected this. Your thoughts fly distractedly to the guards you'd had on the door, the trolls who made up your harem. You hope no one had tried to stop this...oliveblood? On their way in. The horns they're wearing are obviously fake, but the glint of green in their sightorbs couldn't be faked. Well, fuck. You hadn't thought you'd been doing too badly, as an Emperor. You know, fucking overall. Guess you were wrong.

"This will be over quick," your assassin says, and you stifle an insane urge to giggle as you step back into the room. Oh _fuck_, Gamzee. Are they going to wipe him off too? Who else has died tonight on the way to you? You're not worth it, and you know it. "One more moment, your Audacity."

"Don't hurt my moirail," you choke out, as you see Gamzee start to turn from the corner of your eye. He's smeared paint on his cheek again, the idiot. Probably chewing on his painter-stick or something like that. You know with a sudden shock of coldness that this is the last time you'll see him. You try to take everything in, from his horns to his hair, to the dopey fucking expression on his face. Fuck, you're going to die here. "Please - just don't -"

"Motherfucking _unmannerly_, to disturb a troll at pile, you know, sister," Gamzee says in rumbling undertones of sudden glacial politeness, a way you've never heard him speak like before. The muzzle of the laser pistol digs into your skin, and you stumble over some shit that Gamzee has left on his floor and you fall backwards. And down. The laser flares, red light glaring and then.

Then.

Gamzee fucking _moves_.

One long-fingered frond has the assassin by the neck, and he just _throws_ the interloping troll like they weigh nothing. Right into a wall. The oliveblood chokes out a surprised grunt, and then Gamzee is on them (her? Gamzee said sister, and he's usually right) again. You're still gasping on the floor, looking up at the burn in the ceiling that should have been through your thorax. Oh shit. Oh fuck.

"A troll's quadrants are a _sacred thing_, sister, and are not to be meddled with, _you hear ME_," he says in a serene voice that dips and rolls like sea breakers in a storm, and the assassin flies across the room again as he launches her into the air by a grip on her arm. Landing really hard into a wall. You roll onto your side and watch as Gamzee picks up the chair he makes you sit on sometimes so he can get an angle right for a drawing, and shatters it against the wall. The expression he has on his face bares his fangs, and the corners of his facegash are drawn up, but you sure as fucking wouldn't call it a smile. The assassin and you lock oculars for a moment, both of you gasping for breath for different but similar reasons and then the oliveblood's head just.

Disintegrates.

There's really not another word for it.

You gag, nauseated as a piece of stained wood comes out of the ruin of the assassin's skull, then comes back again with a sick squelch. Just so Gamzee can be really sure she's shuffled off this mortal coil, you guess. Oh that's - oh that's brain matter. Leaking out the side of her skull and over the bridge of her sniffnode. Her eye is popped out of her socket and fuck, somehow she looks surprised around the ruin of her jaw and her face and her _everything_ \- 

That's it, that's too much, you vomit onto the carpet. Some fucking Imperial badass you are.

There's a thud, and then Gamzee's on his knees next to you and pulling you up against him, hiding your face against his chest. You throw an arm around his shoulder, and let him cradle you while you sob your oculars out. Fuck. He'd just. He'd. Your Gamzee, always giving you that hazy lop-sided smile and gentle with everyone he came into contact with every night, he'd culled that troll like it was nothing. Like she didn't matter. _Everyone_ matters (that was the whole point of everything your Ancestor had ever done and you hate him, but he wasn't wrong about at least this one thing). 

Why did she want to kill you?

You guess you'll never know. 

Gamzee rocks you on his lap, humming softly as he strokes his fingers through the short crop of your hair. He's so much bigger than you are, but you'd never really noticed it before. It hadn't meant anything. You'd never thought about how easy it might be for him to kill someone. After a few moments, you take a hiccuping breath and scrub at your eyes. Cough and clear your throat.

"Sollux," you bark authoritatively because if there's anyone who should know what's going on here, it's the goldblood who you literally pay to ensure that everything is kept under surveillance. And you know he's got an alert set up for when you say his name, it's a safety measure. Fuck. You sure didn't use it when it might have been useful. 

_"What's up, KK?"_ crackles your sometimes-kismesis, usual close hatefriend and all around pain in your fantastically perky glutes over the intercom system. So he's paying attention _now_. Great. What the fuck had happened to your usual security protocols? Just how the fucking shitstained fuck had an assassin, a midblood, managed to waltz her way straight into your harem and directly to your moirail's chambers? So many fucking ugly questions that you're going to have to ask, of so many fucking people. Repeatedly. And harshly. 

"A fucking assassin is what, you inveterate nooksniffer," you say grimly, and despite yourself, you look at the assassin with her ruin of a thinkpan currently staining your moirail's carpet. You're going to have to. You. You don't think you could ever come in here again. You don't know what you're going to do about that, so you push it off to think about it later. Deal with what's happening right now, break down later (these are strong words for a troll currently in the lap of his moirail, but fuck that thought right in the wastechute - what else is a moirail for, if not for shit like this). Sollux starts to scoff, then makes a truly ugly sound of surprise as he obviously turns to the cameras in Gamzee's respiteblock. "What the _fuck_, Sollux."

_"That's-"_ You don't get to hear Sollux being hideously surprised very often. You'd enjoy it if it hadn't come with the fun side bonus of watching Gamzee crack open someone's skull with a lump of comfortblock. _"Holy fucking thit!_" You can make fun of him for losing control of his lisp later, right now, you need to...you need to... What you should do is get up but your walking fronds sure don't feel the fuck up to it right now. And you're not one hundred per cent sure that Gamzee is going to let you out of his sight anyway. Absently, you lift your hand and pap your purpleblood on the cheek, rubbing at the sensitive skin until he sighs and leans in deeper into your touch. At least that's still the same. _"Where the fuck did that come from!"_

"That's what we'd all like to know, Sollux, now get the fuck on it." God. You guess someone decided that it was a good time for a revolution. You just wonder which side of the spectrum the push was coming from. You hope it was just something you can demonstratively show was only a lone howlfiend attack. You were given the Empire to look after, and you're not going to let any other fucking dumbasses make you fuck this up. "And get someone to come clean this mess up."

Your voice is cold, even if you can still feel tears on your cheeks and taste bile in your mouth. You've seen trolls die before, of course. But it was just something about how Gamzee didn't even think about it; he just did it. For you, to protect you. You guess even after sweeps of moirallegiance, your moirail still has unexpected depths when you thought he was about as shallow as a fucking puddle.

_"Yeah, uh - jethuth fuck, who was meant to be watching the Emperor's cams - we have a fucking **situation**-"_ Before his voice cuts off, you have the pleasure of hearing Sollux start to lose his tightly wound shit. Things are going to be unbearable for a few cycles, maybe more, in terms of security oversight. Whatever. The assassin failed, and they'll find that out when the corpse is disposed of. You'll try and make a point of doing it quietly, with no fanfare but there's too many trolls involved. Sollux will do his best, but shit will get out eventually. It always does. Maybe it'll discourage anyone else from trying something similar. 

"Take me to my rooms," you tell Gamzee and he nods, and lets out a deep and rumbling sigh before standing up, still carrying you in his arms. The way his body shifts underneath you to do it is _not normal_. If you couldn't feel his fucking bones, you'd wonder if he had _any_. "There's a fucking weasel in your ancestry," you tell him, and you're proud of the fact that your voice doesn't crack. This is fine. You're fine.

Your moirail just splattered a troll's thinkpan around his respiteblock, someone pointed a laser pistol at you because they were intending to cull you and you're just _fucking peachy_ with everything. 

"Maybe so, motherfucker, who the fuck knows what miracles the Mother Grub does draw into Her own fine self," he says, as though it's any other night and you're just shooting the shit. You're pretty sure that the wetness on his palm you can feel is blood. At least when you come out, it'll be obvious it's not your blood. Oh fuck. What if people are dead out there? You didn't hear any shouting - but - "Eyes on me, bro," Gamzee rumbles, and your gaze flies up to his eyes and how he looks so fucking calm, and you don't know how he's managing to do it but it's helping you keep your shit together.

The door opens, and you don't look. What if everyone's dead? You'll deal with it, fuck, you'll - you don't know what you'll do. You care about everyone that you've drawn to yourself. Everyone in your harem is there for a reason, and you love them all at least a little. Even if you hate them. You make a tiny grubnoise, and shove your fist into your mouth so you don't make another, before turning your head and then smacking Gamzee on the shoulder. You should be on your feet, like you're actually in charge here or something. Fuck. What a fucking shitshow.

"Put me down."

"Sure, bro." He lets you down, and you take a deep breath. You're the Emperor. You can do this, and you have to do this. You turn and expect to see corpsehusks lying akimbo in a rainbow of blood across the comfortplanks and seating-blocks, but it's just. It's just a normal night. Everyone turns to look at you and you let out a gasping breath that you didn't know you'd been holding, shoulders sagging. Oh thank fuck. "Everyone fucking copacetic out here?"

"What happened?" "What's going on?" "I knew we shouldn't have -" "What the fuck, is that blood -"

A cacophony of questions start up, and people start pressing towards you and you throw your hands up. Palms out, pushing them back. God, you just can't - you can't deal with this. 

"_SHUT UP!_" you bellow, and the room full of trolls falls into shocked silence for at least long enough for you to get your breath and bulldozer your way into explaining what's happened. And what's going to happen. "There was an assassination attempt -" You hold up a shoosh finger at one of your pale concubines, and take another deep breath. "It's done. They're dead. No one and I mean _no one_ is to go into Gamzee's respiteblock until the securiwrathy forces get here." You sweep them all with a glare until you're satisfied that they're going to do what you tell them. You're the fucking Emperor here. They'd fucking better do what you tell them to do. "I'm going to get in my recuperacoon and _sleep_. If you've got questions, they can wait for tomorrow twilight. Who knows, we might even fucking know something by then."

Without waiting for them to get their pans together so they can fire more questions at you, you stride towards the doors out of the harem and throw them open so hard that they hit the bluebloods standing on either side. Who are both still alive, thank fuck - but what the fuck were they doing letting an assassin into your most private spaces? You are _drowning_ in incompetence here.

"You're both fired, by the way," you shoot off as you stride past them, taking a moment of petty pleasure in ruining their nights. You don't have to look to know Gamzee is loping after you, probably with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. And still no shoes. Because he's just fucking like that. You know they won't stay fired, even if they don't work as guards ever again. You're too soft for that, and besides...it's hard for cooler blooded trolls to get decent jobs. But this was such a fuck up, you couldn't trust them ever again if you saw them standing somewhere. Maybe you can get them relocated to somewhere that looking after things wasn't exactly the same fucking priority as guarding the _fucking_ Emperor. 

What a fucking shitty ass end to the night. All you wanted to do was pile with Gamzee and just fucking relax for once. Once you reach your chambers, much more ornate and nowhere near as comfortable as Gamzee's, you turn and lock the fucking door after you. If you need security, you're pretty sure now that Gamzee is more than competent enough to deal with it.

"What the fuck was that?" you say quietly, not looking at him for the moment. You hear him kind of shuffle his over-large feet and sigh.

"Dunno, best friend. I just got so fucking mad," he says, sounding mournful but not so much that he understands that he might have done something fucked up. More sad that you're sad. It's definitely a different thing. You shiver, and then resolutely throw away the thought that he could be dangerous to you. He's not. He hasn't ever been. He's your moirail. Why did you even think something like that? "Let's just get our slumber on, huh? And talk about it tomorrow, real and proper."

"Yeah...yeah. Let's do that," you say because you're so fucking tired. And he looks like he is too. Apparently high emotion moments full of adrenaline and the threat of death are fucking exhausting! Who the fuck knew, right?! "We'll talk about it tomorrow." Boy, you're going to be doing so much talking about this. You're going to get to talk to Sollux about what the fuck and how the fuck, you'll need to sort something out for the bluebloods you just fired, and you'll need to talk to the Council. And you'll have to talk with Gamzee.

What it comes down to is who do you prefer to be alive, you or the assassin. And you guess like a selfish pustule, you're going to pick you. Gamzee would pick you every time, and you knew that before - it's just that you _really_ fucking know it now. 

"Let's get in the slime. Ok? I can't deal with anything else tonight."

"You got it, best friend," he says, sounding relieved that you're both dodging the whole issue of how he brutally killed someone tonight. To protect you, you remind yourself. To save your life. It's just...it's still something you need to process. You hadn't thought he was really capable of killing anyone at all. You guess you were wrong. Stripping off in your respiteblock and then climbing into the luxuriously and almost offensively large recuperacoon with its abundance of green slime, you feel Gamzee slide in right next to you. A cool presence, swiftly wrapped around you and you feel yourself relax into the comforting familiarity of his body against yours.

Being the Emperor has been a fucking shitty thing, over and over. You never really fucking wanted to do it, but there hadn't exactly been what you'd call a choice. You and your shitty freak blood. You press your face into Gamzee's throat and try not to think about how the oliveblood's skull had caved in when you'd been looking into her eyes. 

You're going to be thinking about that for a while, and you know it. Gamzee purrs, and it's comforting. It always is. You need to sleep. You can feel the tingle of the sopor clinging to you, pulling you into sleep whether you will or no. Tomorrow and tomorrow and onto tomorrow...you'll put your agonising off until then. If you think about it, one way or another you sure did spend some fucking time with your moirail. You guess that kinda counts as a win. At this point, you'll take what you can fucking get.


End file.
